


Mr Green and the Adventure of the Ten Gallon Hat

by sanguinity



Series: sang's moreholmes [8]
Category: Mой нежно любимый детектив | My Dearly Beloved Detective (1986)
Genre: F/F, Fix-It, Humor, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 18:40:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9620507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguinity/pseuds/sanguinity
Summary: Jane Watson has run away from the circus to become a detective again.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PhoenixFalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFalls/gifts).



Mr Green answers the bell to find Mrs Robert Summers, lately Miss Jane Watson of 221B Baker Street, standing on the stoop, wearing… He believes the proper phrase is _a ten-gallon hat_ , although it pains him to describe any aspect of the object upon Mrs Summers' head as proper. 

"Mrs Summers," he greets her. He is proud that no observer could know how deeply shocked he is at this moment.

"Oh, Mr Green, it's so good to be home...!" Mrs Summers says, pushing forward. Mr Green falls back before her. "I never thought I'd be so homesick for London, but the Guard had their kickline going while I was coming past the palace just now, and my heart swelled to see them…! And the fog! Oh, just _smell_ the fog, Mr Green!" 

He sniffs once at the fog. His eyes water. "Yes, very bracing," he agrees and shuts the door. 

She has a small dog beside her. It hops on its hind legs, forelegs tucked tight against its chest.

"That's Flea," Mrs Summers says, and the small dog spins in a tight circle, still on its hind legs, and barks twice at Mr Green. "You mustn't mind him. He has the worst case of stage-fright, I simply couldn't leave him there." 

Mr Green does not ask where _there_ might be. He can see and interpret the mixed mud and sawdust on Mrs Summers’ boots as easily as Miss Holmes might: Mrs Summers has come from Olympia, her point of origin confirmed by her reference to Kensington Palace. 

It would seem that Mrs Summers has run away from the circus. 

"May I take your…" He eyes the object on her head, but he is made of stern stuff, Mr Green, and will not be bested by such a monstrosity. _"...hat?"_

She hands him Flea's lead—he had not asked for the dog, but is too professional to refuse—then her hat, her gloves, her cloak. She is wearing a buckskin jacket trimmed with both spangles and fringe, which is at least one decorative element too far, in Mr Green's opinion. A gunbelt hangs around her hips, heavy with the weight of her revolver, and around her neck— 

His eyes widen slightly as she unwinds the five foot long snake from her neck and hangs it around his. He is deeply, abjectly grateful that they are within the privacy of 221B, and there are no outside observers to witness his disgraceful break in composure. 

"She's an excellent mouser, and will need somewhere warm by the stove. I'll come help you with her after I've spoken with Shirley." 

"Very good, ma'am," Mr Green says, and turns to leave. 

"Mr Green?" Mrs Summers calls after him, and he turns back. Her excitement has faltered; she seems uncertain. 

"Ma'am?" 

"Will Shirley… forgive me, do you suppose?" 

He thinks of Miss Holmes and her despondency after Mrs Summers' marriage. Blessedly, the new round of stories by Sir Arthur has kept Miss Holmes in steady work; Mr Green does not know what fate might have befallen her, otherwise. 

"I cannot say, Mrs Summers." 

"Oh, please, Robbie was as glad to see the back of me as I was the back of him—it's just plain old Jane Watson again," she corrects him. 

"Indeed," he says with feeling, and leaves to inform Miss Holmes of the return of her prodigal partner. 

~ ~ ~

"Miss Jane Watson to see you, miss." 

Miss Holmes starts, then dismisses her reaction with a curt shake of her head. "It's a common enough name," she murmurs. She evaluates the menagerie that attends Mr Green. "But I see that _this_ Miss Watson is uncommon enough. Circus folk?"

"So I read the signs."

"Does she have the makings of a detective, I wonder? It would be a rare chance." The agency has been short-handed since Miss Watson's marriage. 

"She does," Mr Green confirms. "It is the former Mrs Robert Summers." 

Miss Holmes’ chin goes up. Her entire bearing straightens and stiffens. Miss Holmes is a master detective, a Sphinx among the women of her class, but she has not been trained to the impenetrable inscrutability of even the lowest girl in service. "I see. We are not a home for wayward wives and stray animals, Mr Green." 

"No, miss," Mr Green agrees. "We are a detective agency." 

Miss Holmes cuts him a sharp glance, but Mr Green has been raised to service, and there is nothing on his face to read. 

~ ~ ~

Mr Green brings in the tea to find that Miss Watson has dragged her chair nearer to Miss Holmes', so close that their knees nearly brush. She leans forward earnestly, while Miss Holmes sits back, attempting to feign indifference to the conversation. 

"And you think you can just run away yet again and come back to being a detective?" Miss Holmes asks sternly. Mr Green aches at the underlying despair in her voice. 

"I never stopped being a detective, Shirley! You know it's not something you can give up. It's why I left Robbie, I couldn't _not_ see what he was getting up to at his club, so much worse than just the gambling! And then later, when I was at the circus, I couldn't help but— Oh, please tell me you're investigating the Ghost?" She places an entreating hand on Miss Holmes' knee. 

"I would, but the official force won't let me in." 

Mr Green indulges himself in a quiet _harrumph._ The Ghost's high-born burglary victims have been reluctant to consult with a woman, and Inspector Lester has taken more pleasure in that than a gentleman ought. Nor has he exercised himself overmuch, in Mr Green's opinion, to convince them of Miss Holmes' skill and discretion. Mr Green sets the tea-tray down with the softest of judgmental _thumps._

"I'll pour, thank you," Miss Holmes dismisses him. 

Mr Green nods and retreats. 

"Then have I the present for you!" Miss Watson exclaims. "I know who the Ghost is! We need only set a trap for her, and she's ours!" 

"She?" Miss Holmes asks. 

Mr Green shuts the parlour door. 

He pauses there, considering, then proceeds upstairs to light a fire in the grate of the former Mrs Summer's former room. 

~ ~ ~

Mr Green prepares cold roast beef and mustard sandwiches, and contemplates the question of the python's feed while he watches it twine among the hot water plumbing. Its alleged skill at mousing is irrelevant: excepting the two well-dressed and sometimes musical mice that live behind the stove, Mr Green does not tolerate rodents in his kitchen. And that loving pair is too exceptional to be sacrificed to Miss Watson's pet snake. 

He is interrupted by Miss Holmes. She is dressed for the street, just fastening her cloak. Miss Watson follows behind, ducking as she comes through the door to avoid bashing her... _hat_ on the lintel. 

"We're off to Olympia to have a look at this Ghost," Miss Holmes informs him. "I don't expect we'll be back tonight." 

Mr Green packs the waxed-paper-wrapped sandwiches next to the vacuum flask of tea and the bottled lemonade, then closes the wicker hamper and hands it across to Miss Holmes. The china and silver are already secured inside: he keeps a set there at all times, ready for any emergency. 

"And will you please air the second bedroom while we're gone?" Miss Holmes asks as she takes the hamper. "Jane will be stopping with us for a bit." 

"Consider it done, Miss." 

"Thank you," she says, with a rare smile. "You're a treasure." 

Then she and the former Mrs Summers are gone, leaving Mr Green alone in his kitchen with the Burmese python, the circus dog, and the hyper-intelligent mice. 

Flea whines at the door and turns two beseeching back flips. 

With great dignity, Mr Green goes to retrieve the dog's lead. 

**Author's Note:**

> Tip of the (ten gallon) hat to Bert Coules and Eve Titus. Much thanks to Garonne for beta and britpick!


End file.
